


Insentient Senses

by vepid



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vepid/pseuds/vepid
Summary: There's a musician: he cannot speak.There is a writer: he cannot hear.He wants to hear him speak with just more than his hands; he wants him to hear with just more than his mind.Chanyeol is a coffee shop musician. There’s just one thing very special about him. He’s mute.Kris is a published writer. There’s also something special about him. He’s deaf.Chanyeol has never found a reason so dire to speak again.But he needs to tell Kris three words.Kris has never found a reason so dire to hear again.But he thinks he needs to hear Chanyeol mutter three words.





	Insentient Senses

**[ KRIS ]**

> _The embrace was warm. Her body was warm and..._

And... and... fuck.

...

"..." 

A set of long, bruised fingers sweep through messy locks. Beneath a couple of loose strands stand furrowed brows and sharp eyes, and further beneath are the promises of darkened bags, soon to approach without one more night of sleeplessness. There's nothing distracting him from writing this. The deadline is, well, this weekend. Careful eyes shifted to the glaring numbers at the bottom right corner of his computer. 3:45PM, December 10th. His fingers resume taking out frustration on his hair once more, tangling every which way around above him. Perhaps now people would know who much of a mess he was. He had no grip on anything: deadlines, his own writing, bills to pay, and even Tao...

Tao, that bastard. Where was he? He's looking for Tao, of course, that always-late boy he called his editor in chief... and also his best friend, or something.  His head turns a little too fast towards the door, causing his the earphone on his right to fall towards the ground. He catches it in time but his eyes meet another's, so he fails to return to the screen of his laptop. The eyes that return the gaze of his own are familiar, in a way. As much of a regular he was to this small shop, he knew these eyes were just the same. He hadn't paid too much attention to him, except the fact of his abnormally large ears and those bulging eyes. And, of course, that guitar that was with him each time he observed. He could only observe.

He could never hear anything.

He could only remember what things sounded like; he could only play with fond memories. His mother's voice, who's tone rose up and down according to his grades in school. His father's laughter, at his own jokes that were even worse than his own. That stupid Korean pop or what not that Tao played across his office downtown always; sounds of cringy lyrics from the radio with the same.  The quiet but relaxing way the keyboard beneath him wrote for him his greatest novel hits and bestsellers -- the sound of a stranger at the park, flipping the pages of his bestseller and laughing every once in a while. The sound of cars, honking and being ever so fucking impatient outside the city streets. The damned neighbor he had by his apartment that shouted too loud during football season at obscene hours of the night. The rain drops... unforgiving, thundering clouds... He missed all of that. He had only learned to treasure such sounds when it had all been taken away from him.

But then he remembers just how distracting all that noise would be if it ever came back to his ears. His own badgering thoughts were enough. So he blinks, and although bigger eyes still remain on him, he recollects and shoves his earphone back into his ear, where it plays nothing. Writer's block, it seemed. That would be the only explanation for his sudden loss of inspiration. This chapter had gone absolutely nowhere within the last week; the whole book had gone absolutely nowhere but limbo in the past thirty days. The real problem lied in the fact that his publisher had requested for some romantic nonsense. Kris was not a writer of love, only adventure. His lips press into a thin line as he decides to return back to writing something, at least, just so he could tell Tao he had met his writing quota for the day.

The embrace was warm. Her body was warm and...

And... and...

A tap disrupted his ability to think for another word. Immediately, his head turned in full expectancy of the narrow eyes of Tao, yet instead they were met by those big eyes again. Except this time they were much closer, close enough for him to see the way they seemed to twinkle. Twinkle? That sounded all so cliche -- 

"I'm sorry, can I help you?" 

Perhaps his words came off colder than he desired. The stranger staring back at him remains there wordless. Kris wonders if he's here to confront him staring at him so much; even he himself would have been uncomfortable. He's got no capability of hearing the other, but after so many ears, he'd become an excellent lip reader. And these boy's lips refused to part; refused to speak of anything after a tap. "Can I... help you?" His brows furrow the way they do when he's writing, displaying confusion, frustration, and just a clutter of feelings all at once. The eyes of the other boy clearly had something he desired to speak of. Yet he spoke nothing. "Can I help --"

He pauses before he can repeat it a third time, only because he watches the way the boy perches his guitar case over his shoulder. Then he stares one more time, only to leave. Right out the door, right into the city. His figure disappears to the right of the big, glass window. He blinks once, then another; he wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation. He remains seated there, all dumfounded and further confused. And after just perhaps, half a minute, the clouds thunder and droplets begin to pound against the sidewalks outside. He wouldn't admit to it. He certainly wouldn't. But at least to himself, he can softly admit. 

He misses the sound of rain.

 

 

\-- 

 

**[ CHANYEOL ]**

 

"He's a writer." 

Chanyeol turns his head, red tinting the ends of his ears in embarrassment. He hadn't meant to so blatantly be staring -- had it been that obvious? 

"Extremely obvious." Minseok gives him a knowing grin, the one where the corner of his lip pinches upward as if scheming something. Up to no good, is what Lu-ge would have said, if he was here. "He's also a regular, although you've noticed that." Minseok tends to the coffee machine, fingers delicate as ever as he cleans the surface with a stained towel. "He's been on the New York Times like at least four times for his romance novels. I think he likes the cafe atmosphere to write."

His eyes have somehow drifted towards the writer again, lips pursed in a thin line. 

"His name is Yifan, or Kris, I think is what he goes by."

Chanyeol gives the elder a nod, an attempt at displaying something nonchalant. But his eyes only linger on the writer's face for twenty seconds longer, in the way his cheeks play coy with the warm light from the lamp floating above him. He glows, and radiates a calm sort of aura. Chanyeol finds himself gravitating toward him, feet back on the ground rather than the stool. He doesn't stop himself as he steps forth, closer to the writer. He almost knocks into another table, but his balance shifts at last moment. He turns ninety degrees and his eyes no longer stare at the writer. His feet are climbing the stage, and he sits at the stool there. His fingers gloss over the strings as they make that familiar scratch of a noise, and he earns the attention of most of the cafe-dwellers.

The key word is most, and he doesn't have the eyes of the man by the window. He's too consumed with music of his own that comes from his earphones. It's like this every time.

His lips part, as if to sigh, but no sound escapes. Instead, the thunder roars outside and suddenly the incoming cafe customers have droplets falling from their jackets and hair. He uses the sound of the rain to serve as inspiration, as his fingers move along the board of his guitar smoothly. He plucks note by note, inserting a chord here and there. He lets the rain fill in the silence before the soft snaps come from his audience. His eyes lift from the strings of his guitar to the dim-lit people down below.  He's not sure if it's the lighting, or his bad eyes but --

He swears the writer smiles at him.

 

 

\--

 

**[ KRIS ]**

 

 _You realize your drafts are due in less than two weeks right?_ Tao signs, his brows furrowed in the same way they always seemed to do when they spoke of deadlines. Kris shifts in his seat, elbows propped up against the table with his eyes towards the empty stage. For some reason, he expects the musician to be there, but instead, only the lone chair gleams back at him.

He returns his eyes back to Tao only when Tao taps him roughly on the shoulder. Bringing his hands up, he signs back at him.  _I'll get them in by then. You know I always work better under pressure._

_Yes, but this is one of your most important drafts you have yet to write. Phoenix Publishing and Media Company, Kris. Only the biggest publisher in China and fifth in the world. We could debut your works in America, if we wanted._

They look at each other again, Tao's eyes with that sparkle he's known since thirteen, while Kris' have a lack of the same glint, with little to no spark.  _I'll try my best, Tao._

_Whenever I find the muse to write, I promise._

Tao's glance towards him lasts a few more seconds, then falls. Soon they're both fiddling around with the cups of coffee on the counter, until something disturb's Tao's attention towards elsewhere. Kris raises his face to get a look at whatever it is Tao is looking at, only to see the same, familiar face of a boy with a guitar held precious by his side. The musician walks up the stage to take a seat on the stool, the dim lights focusing onto his long frame, while Kris' eyes do exactly the same.

He begins playing. His fingers move across the guitar strings and from the looks of it, the sounds he makes captures the attention of all the cafe dwellers. From the young couple to the businessman on his tablet, to Tao besides him to himself as well. He surveys Tao's face, watching his once stern expression soften, eyebrows no longer firm but now loosened. He watches as a wave of calm comes over to Tao, observing his shoulders begin to fall, no longer pulled taut in the way the business world always forced them to be. As he peers over at the cafe, the same has happened to any and everyone listening: a sense of comfort, a feeling of serene.

He refocuses his attention to the boy playing the guitar, and for a moment, their gazes come together. He looks into the other's hues, and although he cannot hear, and only the silence he's known from his childhood overwhelms him, he swears he can hear what everyone else is listening to, for just a moment. The same calming, lulling sounds of the guitar that warmed him in some other kind of tenderness he had yet to know, yet to experience.

He smiles at him, and the musician smiles back. Then his fingers stop moving, and he watches the cafe return back to its usual, frantic and busy nature. Kris' fingers find their way onto the keyboard, while Tao looks at him in confusion. 

_You said you had no muse to write just five minutes ago. And now you're ready to write again, Kris?_

His eyes linger on the musician packing up his guitar, wishing he'd stay around for a little longer. 

_I think I've found my muse, Tao._

 

\--- 

 

**[ CHANYEOL ]**

 

"Let me see." Minseok nudges him over, Chanyeol pushed over to the next chair. "I forgot how terrible your handwriting is." Minseok says, while this time, it is Chanyeol that nudges him on the shoulder, embarassed of his handwriting that all his teachers would always call chicken scratch.

"Alright, let's see here... ' _Hello, hi. I noticed that you are always here every other day around the after... afternoon_ ,' Geez, your handwriting is so hard to read, Chanyeol. Anyway. ' _I was wondering if there was a song you would like me to play; if there is a request you have... if you don't, it's fine. I hope you have a nice day!_ '"

As Minseok finishes reading the note he's prepared, he looks upon the older with expectant eyes and a smile, which Minseok doesn't return. Instead, he just gives him a strange glance, that says,  _what the heck_. "This is not only slightly creepy but also sounds like you're terribly insecure about almost everything in your life."

Chanyeol nudges at him again with a frown, this time, a little rougher in the contact.

"I mean. It's cute. It's very you. Not sure why you had to say hello  _and_ hi, but other than that... okay there's a lot of things I would have done differently with the note but I'm going to deliver it anyway, considering you took almost the last forty-four minutes writing this one down. Alright, here we go with me as your matchmaker!"

He watches Minseok buzz off too quick with a cup of coffee and his favorite banana bread that Minseok made fresh daily, too fast for him to be able to stop him. He hadn't even decided yet on whether today was the best day -- the writer across the cafe on his usual place by the window looked particuarly annoyed today, and there was a slight fear in Chanyeol that as Minseok stated, that well, he'd come off as a little strange, overstepping boundaries.

When Minseok gets to the table, he immediately turns his back around on the stool chair, eyes on the fervent coffee machine over the counter instead of staring at the writer and Minseok. His fingers drum onto the surface of the counter, his habit of nervousness, while he tries to make out Minseok's reflection in the metallic surface of the machine. Barely able to see anything, he just waits for a while until there's a tap at his shoulder, and he turns to see Minseok with a note in his hand -- not his own, but on a different piece of paper.

"Go on, read it." Minseok gleams as Chanyeol's eyes focus on the perfectly scripted cursive words on the note.

_JASON MRAZ - LUCKY_

His fingers grasp onto the note, for a little longer than needed. When his eyes come back up to stare at Minseok, he dumbfoundedly stares, while Minseok laughs. "What are you doing? You're making someone wait."

With Minseok's encouragement, he stumbles over his stool, grasping the counter to pull himself up. Hoping the writer wasn't watching his fall, he picks himself up and grabs at his guitar waiting for him on the side of the stage, climbing onto the stage with his gaze fixed on the floor. Once he's seated up on the stool, he tries to make himself comfortable, arms now over his guitar, familiar with this setting. Everything familiar about the cafe and the stage he sits on, except how much his fingers seemed to tremble, at the fact that he finally had the audience he wanted to play for. Minseok off by the counter turns the stage light on, as he feels the warmth of it beneath. His cheeks and whole body grow a little warmer too, as he finally peers out into the audience to see the writer's eyes on him.

He closes his eyes, takes one breath, then another, exhaling and inhaling until his fingers scrape across the strings of his guitar. He lets them settle where they know to do, beginning to let the guitar speak for him instead. The acoustic sounds soon fill the space of the cafe, as usual, capturing the onlookers' attention, for just a brief moment in their hectic, daily lives. For this moment, he has the attention of the writer too, who watches him ever so carefully, specifically, his fingers strumming the strings. It makes him pluck a wrong chord, which he quickly jumps back from, gradually letting the song continue. When it finishes, he earns a couple of snaps from the audience, a big old grin from Minseok, and a nod and that same lovely smile from the writer.

When he steps down from the stage, he places his guitar back in his case, while reprimanding himself for the mistake and mess up that he normally never had. Then he returns to his seat by the counter, where Minseok slides another note to him. Chanyeol looks up at him in confusion, while Minseok just hums and walks away to retrieve an order from a different table. 

He looks upon the note, eyes widening.

 _You played so well that I'm a little jealous that everyone else got to hear my personally requested song. But thank you._  
_P.S. I've never gotten myself to try banana bread, but now I realize I've been missing out. So, thank you again._  
_My name is Kris._

_Hope to see you around more._

 

\-- 

 

**[ KRIS ]**

 

It's the first time he's finding difficulty to find the right words. 

He learns that his name is Chanyeol, along with some other facts. His favorite order is a caramel macchiato with loads of whipped cream and a mocha drizzle on top. His favorite drama is Stairway to Heaven, which he's watched over eighty-nine (currently in the process of making that ninety) times. He's got a dog, named after Beethoven for some reason, and most importantly, he's got a smile that warms him even from the harsh winter that cloaks over the city. 

Almost two weeks has passed since they've passed notes back and forth, with the barista, Minseok, as their messenger in between. He's starting to get tired, he can tell. What more he can tell is how much Chanyeol is itching to come over and talk to him beyond speaking through writing like two teenagers in middle school. He knows from the glances Chanyeol steals that linger two seconds too long; he knows because he stares at Chanyeol the same exact way, even if Chanyeol doesn't seem to notice in cloud of obliviousness. 

He doesn't know what makes this Tuesday different from the last one. There's a thin layer of soft snow outside on the sidewalks that have yet to be cleaned from the snowflakes that still continue to fall. Because of it, there are a few more people in the cafe than usual; the chatter of the crowd along with the smell of freshly ground beans always his favorite, and his best muse. 

It's somewhere past two when he feels the clatter of a cup and plate clank down on his table. When he looks up, he's watching Minseok disappear in between the maze of tables and chairs as usual, while a cup of americano, piece of banana bread and a scribbled note waits for him instead across the table. A smile naturally lifts at the sight, his hands grasping to bring the small note closer immediately. 

_Hello and hi Kris!_

_How's writing going today? Did you get a chance to wrap up the twelfth chapter? Let me know what song you want to hear today as usual!_

_\-- Chan_

He taps his pen onto a napkin as usual, unable to find the right words to reply. He writes a, good morning, and then finds himself stuck, with something quite similar to the writer's block he rarely experienced in this familiar cafe setting. After two minutes of struggling, he drops the pen and picks up a piece of the banana bread, beginning to nip away at it. In other few minutes, he finishes the bread, left with a sugary stickiness on his fingertips which he could never stand. 

The note and pen go abandoned for a moment as he heads to the bathroom to wash his hands. As he finishes up and heads out with his eyes on a strange dirty spot on his left shoe, he finds himself blocking the doorway for another person to come in. He quickly makes way towards the right, only to watch the other person's feet move in the same direction. When he moves to the left, the same thing occurs -- and this repeats at least four times, until he finally looks up. 

He meets eyes that seem just as surprised and unexpectant as his own -- it's strange not having to look down to meet eyes with someone, and he realizes only now that he's never known that Chanyeol was almost, if not just, as tall as he was. 

He spaces out for a while, just blatantly staring until Chanyeol brings him back, giving him a smile, teeth and all. It's so natural the way that it's so contagious, infecting his own lips to stretch from one ear to another. 

He tries to step right again, and Chanyeol does the same -- a step left, and another left step from Chanyeol. He laughs, and Chanyeol seems just as amused. Instead of trying again, he grabs Chanyeol's wrist gently, pulling him in the opposite direction of the one he steps in. Finally, they pass by one another. 

But he turns around to find Chanyeol doing the same, and they exchange another smile. 

He waits till Chanyeol's back in his usual seat by the counter. For some reason, he takes longer in the bathroom than he expects, but he doesn't think twice about it when Chanyeol's figure re-emerged into his sight. He pulls himself away from his cozy corner of the cafe and steps towards the counter, where he feels Minseok's eyes on him first. 

It takes courage to take that last step, but something about Tuesday urges him to do so, and he knocks on the surface of the counter right next to where Chanyeol sits. In response, Chanyeol jumps, his stool making a scratch on the floor because of it, as Minseok gives a whole-hearted laugh while he moves to take an order on the other side. 

Chanyeol turns slowly to face him, and he's got the same face of surprise, the same cute cheeks beginning to pull into a half smile he's fighting. 

When he takes a good look at Chanyeol's smile, to the way his nose crinkles a bit, to observing how the room begins to radiate in a kind of light he's never known before, it's the first time he's finding difficulty finding reasons to hate a Tuesday. 

 

 

\-- 

 

**[ CHANYEOL ]**

 

"Hi, and hello." 

Is what Kris first says to him, and it brings a ridiculous smile onto his face. He's imagined what his voice would sound like, but it wasn't nearly as close to as charming. He's also imagined how this situation would all pan out -- but he still hasn't figured out how to let Kris know that he doesn't speak, or more so, that he can't speak. 

He swallows his nervous heart back down his throat and watches as Kris takes a seat next to him, admiring his crooked smile and his kinda-messy hair. He seems to be patiently waiting for his answer, and it's then that Chanyeol realizes he needs to respond, somehow. He quickly pulls out his notepad to scribble a few words, pushing it over to the other who looks intrigued before he reads it. 

_Hi, did you bring an umbrella? It's supposed to rain soon._

Kris smiles again, and Chanyeol's heart does a few jumps from just that, as he watches Kris decides to speak through scribbles as well. 

_No, but I can wait it out here until it stops. Thank you for letting me know, Chanyeol._

The notepad gets pushed back to his side, and he peers over, unable to help the smile on his face that won't fade. He wonders if he looks like a complete idiot, and just hopes his attempts to hide his excitement at their small conversation is working somewhat. 

_You can borrow mine! I won't leave till late today when the rain actually stops so... you can return it the next time you're here maybe?_

_You're so convinced I will be a good person and return your umbrella._

_You seem like a good person. If not I'll make sure Minseok hyung makes your coffee extra bitter!!!_

At the last note, Kris barks out into a laugh, and Chanyeol observes the way his eyes crinkle on the side. 

_I shivered in fear just now, did you see? But... alright. Only because it'll give me another excuse to be able to speak to you._

At that note, it is Chanyeol's heart that crinkles along the sides, folding and unfolding, again and again at each and every word that Kris scribes onto the notepad between them. Chanyeol thinks he could get used to this, in the way his heart just doesn't stop at whatever it is it's doing. For a moment, their eyes meet. Chanyeol just blinks a couple of times, and so does Kris. Then Chanyeol finds himself smiling absentmindedly, and finds Kris doing the same. There's something warm there, which Chanyeol cannot pinpoint.

_Could I ask a question, Kris?_

_What is it?_

_What kind of music are you alwas listening to, with those headphones you always have in?_

The question seems to throw Kris off guard, with Chanyeol observing the way his brows furrow in thought. It takes him a while to think, it seems, before he carefully, one word at a time, jots down the next response. Before Chanyeol is able to read it, Kris moves a little closer, soon close enough to have their shoulders touch. Then his hand comes over to his ear, where he gently pushes an earbud in, with Chanyeol expectant of classical music, or jazz, or something fitting to Kris. 

Except there's no classical, jazz that comes to his ear -- in fact, there is no music at all. He listens to nothing, as he watches Kris finally push the notepad back over to him. 

_A kind of song only I can listen to. I can't hear._

It is now Chanyeol that finds himself at a loss for words, struggling to give a proper response. He turns and finds Kris' eyes on his again, except -- at a much closer distance than before. His eyes are quick to fall onto the notepad again, scribbling to give himself a distraction from their close proximity. 

_I can hear it, it's a song of my style. Maybe I'll play it one day on stage. Thank you for sharing the song with me._

Kris gives one more smile, and he thinks it's the most genuine one yet.

_Can I ask a question too, then?_

_Of course! What is it?_

_Why is it you never sing?_

Chanyeol's lips press into a thin line, before his teeth nip at the lower lip at the question.

_I can't sing. I can't sing because I can't speak._

When he meet Kris' eyes this time, they are gazing at his own with ones of understanding. For the first time, it is not pity nor sympathy he earns from another, but rather, pure empathy and comfort. It's a kind of warmth again, which overtakes him even on a chilly day such as this one. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually started writing this on AFF, but I thought it'd be cool to post here as well! I hope there are still people who love krisyeol as much as I still. :( Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
